Waiting for Armageddon
by Amberdreams
Summary: Sam and Dean continue hunting, while Lucifer makes plans of his own to "persuade" his vessel to submit to his request. Season 5 spoilery
1. Chapter 1

*****

The cold was all pervading, as if winter itself had lodged in his body, ice spreading from the inside out. The hunter took a rasping breath, then another, seeing the moisture condense in a pale cloud in front of his face. His eyes were open because he could no longer close the lids, and darkness was creeping in around his peripheral vision. He felt his heart judder as _she_ returned – floating above him, her dark hair gently moving in the air as if underwater, her pale perfect oval face smiling warmly at him through red, red lips. A final breath sighed past the hunter's cracked lips and his fluttering heart butterfly-beat once, twice, then stopped forever.

*****

Dean was looking sulky, Sam stern and unrelenting as they pulled into the parking lot of the Traveller's Rest Motel on West Diversey Avenue, Chicago. As he switched off the roaring V8 engine, Dean attempted to fill the silence by reopening the debate that had led to their respective expressions on the long drive from Storm Lake, Iowa, some eight hours before.

"Man, you know I hate cities – surely there was someone else who could've taken this job?"

"Nope, Bobby said we were the closest hunters, and the best qualified."

The argument was put on pause as the brothers got out of the car, suppressed a shiver at the icy wind that whistled through the nearly empty lot, and busied themselves transferring their duffel bags out of the capacious trunk of the sleek black Impala into the Motel room.

"Besides, why wouldn't you want a job that involves chatting up gorgeous women in seedy bars? Isn't that one of your favourite pastimes?"

"Just because your favourite pastime is geeking out with your best friend the laptop…"

"Well, at least my laptop won't give me the clap, Dean."

"I've never had the clap!" Affronted.

"Ain't that a miracle, then?!"

"Ha, ha, very funny. You're just jealous because I'm such a chick magnet."

Satisfied he had gained the last word, at least on that subject, Dean grinned as he dumped his bag on the bed nearest the door, effectively taking point as usual. Looking around he wrinkled his nose in disgust as he took in the excessively pink floral décor, but even as he opened his mouth to make a sarcastic comment, his brother jumped in to head him off at the pass.

"Don't say anything, this was the last twin room they had. We could have shared a double bed in a better class of room but …"

"God no!" Dean interjected vehemently, "Never again, man! Not since you reached puberty and got so gassy…"

"Oh thanks, Dean, that's rich coming from you with your stinky feet and aversion to washing!"

Dean absently ignored this last riposte, his mind had already made a quick-silver-salmon leap ahead to the details of the job that had brought them to the Windy City. He had emptied the contents of his duffel onto the pretty patterned bedspread, oblivious to the incongruous juxtaposition of his hoard of deadly weapons displayed on a pattern of roses and carnations and the sundry other girly pink designs that adorned the Winchester brothers' latest temporary home. Ever restless, Dean stayed on his feet while Sam made himself comfortable, stretching his long legs out on the other bed. While the younger Winchester flipped open his laptop and called up the old news stories that were the precursors to the story in that day's paper, Dean pounced on the newspaper he'd had picked up at the Motel reception area when Sam had been checking in and rustled his way to the relevant story.

"So. We have three men, all mid twenties to early thirties, all fit and athletic jock-types, all found apparently frozen to death after taking a jog from this Lincoln Park Sports Club; even though the weather hasn't been all that cold lately."

Sam nodded, Dean opened the map of Chicago he'd bought in their last gas station stop and spread it out on the small table in the room's tiny kitchenette. He pulled out a red marker pen and held it poised over the map, ready for Sam to call out the locations of the three bodies. He was interrupted by the tinny strains of Deep Purple's Smoke on the Water, and scrabbled in his jacket pocket for his cell phone. The caller ID said it was Bobby. Dean answered, somewhat puzzled, as they had only spoken to their old friend a matter of hours ago when he had given them the information about the job. There couldn't be any good reason for their old mentor to be calling again so soon.

"Yo, Bobby, what's up?" Dean felt his expression change from puzzlement to grim resolve and he waved a hand to catch Sam's attention. "Hang on a sec, Bobby, I'll put you on speaker." As his brother looked up from his computer screen, Bobby's gruff tones filled the room and Dean put his phone down on top of the map.

"This is looking bad, boys. That hunter I mentioned to you yesterday, Sam, who'd gone missin' a couple'a days ago – well they found him last night. Dead."

Dean passed a hand over his face, suddenly feeling very tired. He turned his back on the phone and stared out of the grubby window at nothing at all, wearily letting Sam ask all the right investigatory questions. Another good man dead, and no sign of an end to it all.

"So, this hunter, was he killed in the same way as the three other men?"

"Yup. Looks like. From what I can gather from the initial police reports, there wasn't a mark on the body and their initial diagnosis is hypothermia. The temperature has been dropping over there in Michigan but it's still pretty mild for this time of year, so I think we were right, Sam."

"A succubus?"

"Yep."

Dean turned round at that, making a herculean effort to wipe what was feeling more and more like a permanent frown off his face. This whole apocalypse thing really sucked out loud.

"Great," he said, with something like his old patented Dean-grin plastered on, "So at least I do still get to check out some hot chicks on this hunt, eh?" Ignoring Sam's obligatory eye-roll, he continued. "These succubusses…"

"Succubae, Dean!" Sam corrected

"Succu..succi…oh whatever, dude. Anyhow, Bobby, how do we kill the damn thing?"

"Got to find her first, and that won't be easy unless she decides to hunt you…"

"Set a trap then? We can use Sammy's tender young body as bait…yeah, I bet any self respecting succubus would go for those washboard abs….ow!" Dean broke off under Sam's punch to his bicep, grinning at his little brother's full on pissy-face.

"Will you two idjits stop bickering so we can get planning?" Bobby interjected, dryly. Dean could see the older man's exasperated amused expression from 900 miles away.

The brothers exchanged guilty looks and knuckled down to business.


	2. Chapter 2

"Sam? Sammy?"

Dean looked around in confusion. One moment, the Winchesters had been side by side; then Dean had led the way round the corner of the sports club, his favourite pearl handled colt pistol cradled in both hands in advance of his body, Sam guarding their rear, or so he'd thought. The next moment he'd felt a cold wind on his bare neck, an sudden emptiness at his back where Sam's big bulk should have been. He span around, all senses on full alert, to see – nothing. A bit fat nothing where the broad shoulders of his little brother should have been, blocking his view of the amber street lights across the deserted street. Instead, he had an entirely unobstructed view of the empty expanse of dark tarmac, save for the pale frosted mist generated by his own heavy breathing as he fought off a sudden wave of panic.

"Goddam it, Sam! I know I joked about making you bait, but this wasn't what I had in mind..." He muttered under his breath.

Something cold and damp caressed the back of his hand and he jumped, then smiled grimly as he realised it had started to snow. Large flakes were drifting silently down around him, getting thicker and thicker every second, obscuring visibility. Dean pulled out his cell, punched in Sam's ID on the speed dial – the voice said "number unobtainable" and he gritted his teeth as his anxiety grew. He tried Bobby's number next, with the same result, which led him to check whether his phone had a signal. It seemed to be working ok, so he tried again, but again came up empty. Frustrated, he thrust the useless piece of junk back into his jacket pocket and turned up his collar against the growing cold. He gripped his gun harder but his hand was getting numb as the temperature plummeted and he shoved his other hand deeper into his pocket in an attempt to warm it up.

Where the hell was his brother? How could a gigantic, six foot five Yeti of a man just disappear into thin air without a sound? It was ridiculous. Impossible. Only angels could do that kind of shit….

Dean drew in a deep breath, feeling a warm fury start to burn inside his stomach. Zachariah. That son of a bitch must have done something, stolen Sam away – but why? He glared around at the swirling mass of snow as if it could give him the answers he needed, instead of just covering everything around him in a blanket of pure white.

"Excuse me…" The soft hesitant voice coming from directly behind nearly made him jump out of his skin. Distracted by Sam's disappearance, he had momentarily forgotten the reason they had come to this sports club car park in the middle of the Chicago night, and now in his head he had two Winchester voices busy telling him off – Sam with an instantaneous "jail bait, bro!" as he took in the tiny attractive Asian-looking girl now backing off in terror from the gleaming pistol he was waving (well over her head, it had to be said, as she was barely five foot tall) – accompanied by his Dad's low grumble "stay alert, stay alive, boy!" for having let someone (however harmless she might appear) creep up on him like that.

"Oh shut up!" he thought, then realised he had actually said it out loud.

"I'm sorry, please, don't hurt me…" the girl was repeating, over and over as she backed away, her white hands fluttering like doves. Just for a moment, he thought that the girl was surrounded by a flurry of small white birds instead of snow. Dean blinked a couple of large snowflakes off his dark lashes to clear his sight, and swiftly pocketed his gun, holding his empty hands out placatingly.

"It's ok, it's ok, I've put my gun away – see? I won't hurt you, kid, you see I'm…." thinking quickly "I'm a cop."

"What're you doing out here on your own in the middle of the night, kid? You look frozen."

The girl seemed reassured by his words, or his tone, or both. Whatever, she had stopped backing off and was now hugging herself with thin white arms. He took a step closer, and he could see that she really wasn't dressed for a winter's night in Michigan. Her whole body was visibly shivering in its thin white cotton blouse and black mini skirt, which made it even more of a mystery what she was doing out there at all.

"My boyfriend…" she stuttered through chattering teeth, "He …we were driving back from the cinema and he wanted…wanted to…" she looked away, embarrassment written all over her perfect oval face, "Well, you know…and when I said no we ...we had a row and he said I could walk home…"

"What a dick!"

Dean frowned in sympathy, assuming full-on protective mode. Now he was closer, he could see the girl was not as young as he had first thought, though the Sam-in-his-head was probably right in his assessment that she was no more than 16 or so, definitely too young for Dean to hit on, even if he'd been inclined, with the air temperature dropping lower by the second. He did notice how beautiful she was though, with dark almond eyes and her long jet-black hair starred now with sparkling crystalline snow flakes. He started to take off his battered leather jacket, then thought better of it, and beckoned to the girl.

"What's your name, kid?"

"Yuki. Yuki Ona."

She was Japanese then. Something about that name triggered a faint memory in Dean's head, but it was too elusive and he had other things to worry about, so he let it go.

"Come here then Yuki, before we both freeze to death. My car's back there somewhere," he gestured vaguely in the direction of the Impala, invisible now through the blizzard, thinking that their best bet was to get back to the car and hope the engine would still start.

And that his best bet for finding a Sam who'd been kidnapped by angels was to call on his own personal angel. He would need to enlist Castiel's help on this one, and of course to do that since he and Sam had acquired their own built in angel and demon protection, he had to find a working phone. Which of course begged the question – just how had Zachariah tracked them down in the first place? More bible-bashing spies perhaps? Or maybe this whole gig was just a trap for the stupid Winchester boys to go blundering into…

This unpleasant train of thought was interrupted as Yuki slid her cold little body inside his open jacket. Her dark head barely came up to his chest as he wrapped his jacket round them both in a vain attempt to conserve some bodily warmth. Vain because Yuki herself was as cold as an ice sculpture. Dean shivered involuntarily as she pressed herself up against his torso, and standing on tiptoes, placed an icy white hand on either side of his face.

"Thank you," she whispered as she brought her carmine-red lips up to his and took in his warm breath. "Oh shit. You…" he gasped. _How stupid can you be, Dean Winchester? Caught judging by appearances, taking your eye off the ball again…_

Dean's hazel eyes darkened as he stared down into the dark pools of Yuki Ona's eyes, seeing himself reflected in their depths, his expression one of chagrined surprise as she sucked in his breath and stole his consciousness away. Time for one last thought before the dark winter claimed him; one word.

_Sam._


	3. Chapter 3

"Dean? Dean!"

No answer.

As they rounded the corner of the sports club building back to back, Dean on point, Sam rearguard, Sam cast a quick glance over his shoulder just in time to see his brother run into what looked like a wall of pale mist, stark white against the black and amber glittering backdrop of the Chicago night sky. As the pallid vapour swallowed Dean up, Sam thought he saw the figure of a small woman, just the briefest of glimpses - then both she and the older Winchester were obscured by the swirling fog. Cautiously, gripping his Taurus semi automatic in both hands, Sam followed Dean into the mist.

This sudden, patently unnatural smog was so dense, looking down he couldn't see his own feet - or more to the point, given that Sam Winchester was a giant well over six foot four – he couldn't even see beyond his belt. He hadn't taken more than two steps when he stumbled over a soft and yielding lump on the ground in front of him. He staggered, nearly lost his footing but recovered, and then sank to his knees anyway, groping at the ground with his left hand, keeping the gun ready in his right. His flailing hand found the rough sandpaper stubble of his brother's cheek, and Sam groaned silently, wishing desperately for the fog to clear so he could see the damage. Dean was lying on his back, eyes closed, the skin of his cheek felt icy cold. Sam groped anxiously for a pulse in his brother's neck, heaved a sigh of relief when he found it, slow but steady. Mist swirled around his face as if being moved by a chilly breeze, though the night was almost perfectly still. Sam coughed as he inhaled, then gathered the lapels of Dean's jacket in one hand and lifted the dead weight of his brother's inert form off the cold damp ground.

"Dean. Dean can you hear me?" Nothing, no reaction - not a flutter of those ridiculous long lashes Sam loved to tease him about, or even a sighing breath. Sam tried awkwardly to get his arm around Dean to support him, while keeping his gun at the ready. He grunted with the effort, gathered his long legs underneath him and made to stand up. A small white hand suddenly appeared to rest on his arm, and he started violently, nearly losing his grip on his unconscious brother.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. Can I help?" A soft voice asked. Heart pounding, Sam looked around to see a petite Japanese girl crouched down next to him, pale oval face solemn and wide-eyed so close to his own that he could smell the faintest of perfumes, light and flowery with a hint of almonds. It was making him dizzy, and suddenly filled with foreboding, Sam tried to move away.

Too late. The beautiful Japanese girl's crimson lips, a red slash in her white face, curved into a smile of infinite cruelty as Sam found his eyes closing and a terrible coldness washed over him. Desperate, he attempted to kick out with one leg but only managed to lose his balance altogether and felt himself falling backwards, Dean's limp form slipping from his suddenly weak grasp as he toppled over into a flowery scented darkness.


	4. Chapter 4

Sam shifted uncomfortably. These Motel room beds just got worse and worse, he thought grumpily, and this one was really hard. And damp, and frigging cold…and…and not a bed at all.

"Shit! Dean…" Sam sat bolt upright, then immediately wished he hadn't, as his head pounded as if a college marching band had taken up residence inside it. Carefully, one hand pressed to his temple, the younger Winchester stood and looked around in growing puzzlement. He was still in the sports club parking lot, and it was still dark – checking his watch, he found it was probably no more than two hours since he and Dean had arrived on their search for the succubus. Turning around 360 degrees, he saw that the lot was still empty except for the Impala, which was where they had left it, at the far edge of the lot, nearest the lakeside. The night was clear and chilly, and above the city's light pollution, Sam could see a myriad of stars studding the deep darkness of the sky. The mist, whether natural or unnatural, had totally disappeared, and so had his brother. His eye was caught by a dull silver gleam on the ground a few yards away – Dean's Colt. Slowly he bent down and retrieved the gun, absently shoving it into his pocket.

His head was clearing, and his brain starting to function again. Clearly, the Japanese girl had been the succubus they were hunting, though he wasn't sure why she would have spared his life, or why she had taken his brother, not just finished what she had started right there in the parking lot. That just didn't fit with her MO as demonstrated so far with the other victims, or with the lore he and Bobby had researched. He pinched the bridge of his nose and cudgelled his brain to work harder. Something was nagging at him, a thought, a memory just hovering at the edge of retrieval….then he had it. There had been another voice, a different voice - and now, with a chill that settled like a lump of ice in the pit of his stomach, he finally placed it.

Meg.

Meg had his brother. That demon (and this succubus creature too, probably) had taken Dean, and Sam needed help. He quickly strode across the deserted lot towards the Impala, his cell phone out and in his hand quicker than thought.

"Bobby? We've got a problem."

*********

Cold.

He didn't have blood, just ice in his veins. He couldn't remember what it was like to be warm, was having trouble imagining what warmth was, that it even existed as a concept.

His thoughts were slow, sluggish, moved like a glacier moves, one tiny inch at a time over centuries. Grinding. Heavy.

His naked body didn't move at all, even glacier-like motion was impossible with all that frost covering him up, binding him.

Cold.

*********

Sam sat in the florid Motel room, laptop open untouched on the table in front of him. He had been sitting there trying to think what to do next for so long that the screensaver had been through its 15 minute cycle twice and the screen had long gone into its blank power save mode – a bit like my brain, Sam thought, ruefully. Like the screensaver, his thoughts had just been cycling randomly round in his head with nothing useful coming out. Foremost and probably the most distracting of these useless musings was the fact that Dean was going to be pissed with him because he'd had to break into and hot-wire the Impala (the keys had been in Dean's jacket pocket, and presumably still were). Equally nugatory were the mind numbing fears that Dean might not get a chance to bitch at him at all that kept bobbing to the surface after his conversation with Bobby on the way back to the Motel.

It seemed that the creature they had been hunting, and who, it now seemed, had been hunting them, was no ordinary succubus. From Sam's description of his brief and chilly encounter, Bobby had surmised that what they were dealing with was the Yuki-onna.

Yuki-onna, the Mountain Snow Woman, was an ancient Japanese spirit, almost a demi-goddess really; beautiful, serene and deadly as winter. She killed ruthlessly, manifested in mist and snow and wind that she herself created, and would drain the life forces of her victims, sucking them dry. Sometimes she would seduce them, other times simply lead them astray in her winter storms and they would die of exposure. She had a predilection for young, vital, strong men. Men like Dean.

So far, neither Bobby nor Sam had been able to find any information that would help them kill her, when and if they managed to track her down. She was no ordinary demon, and none of the legends they had found so far gave even a hint of how she could be defeated. The only people who had survived an encounter were those _she_ had decided to spare. Bobby concluded that he would throw what books he could find (and Bobby had a fair few volumes in Japanese that might be relevant) into his latest rescue project of a vehicle and drive over straight away. The old hunter had terminated the call with strict instructions that Sam should on no account attempt to tackle the Yuki-onna on his own. Especially as the Japanese spirit seemed to be in some sort of unholy alliance with their new arch-nemesis, Meg. And that could not be good.

******

His eyes were open.

He didn't know how long they had been open without seeing anything, it might have been a while. He had lost all sense of time, had no idea where he was.

But his eyes were now open and his brain was registering input, processing data, and he could see – a blank ceiling.

He tried to move his head, failed. Then his eyes, to try and at least track to the sides – nothing. His body was still frozen absolutely in place, even his eyeballs were fixed and unmoving. His lips, vocal chords, all frozen. But he could see.

A moment later (and it could have been a second, an hour, a day), he almost wished to be blind again as a familiar face loomed over him where he lay helpless. A face he recognised, and hated with a passion. Meg. _Well crap. This just got better and better._

It was, of course, the demon's new face, with its waxy pale skin, long dark hair hanging in lank wavy strands, the too-dark red lipstick. It was smiling, in that smug, Meg-way. Dean, aggravated beyond measure, couldn't even frown.

"Hello again, Dean." She drawled in that grating new voice of hers. She paused deliberately, teasingly, allowing time for him to feel the anger and frustration growing at his inability to respond. "What's the matter, cat got your tongue?" Another pause, another smug smile. "Oh yes, I forgot, Yuki stole your life force away, she's chilled you good, Deano."

Meg ran a red painted fingernail down Dean's stubbled cheek, leaving a red line tracking its path over his pale cold skin. He couldn't flinch at the touch, but he could and did feel revulsion, hoped it showed clearly as disgust and not fear in his eyes.

"Just a bit of frozen meat now…"

_Am I naked? Oh please, don't let me be naked.._

"Nothing you can do to stop me having my wicked way with you whenever I want…" She straddled Dean's helpless body, making sure his immobile view of her grinning face was never obscured, and drew out a wicked-looking blade, brandished it in front of his face.

_Oh God, I _am_ naked…Shit._

"I have been assured that, although you can't scream and your body is frozen solid, you can still feel pain…so. I plan to have some fun while you are here…"

_This is just great. First I get taken down by some vertically challenged little girl who I invited in for a fucking hug, for crissakes, then….aaaaah…._silent screaming, pain as the knife slides in, is twisted viciously. Yes, Meg is correct, he can still feel alright, feel the warm, no freaking hot, blood as it flows over his cold skin.

_Is there any way this whole situation could get any worse?_

Dean is soon to find out, and it is Lucifer himself who provides the answer to that one.

******


	5. Chapter 5

Though Dean had only ever heard Lucifer's voice as spoken by this vessel once before - back in Carthage just seconds before he'd pulled the trigger on Samuel Colt's gun and sent that bullet spinning right into the Devil's borrowed face - it wasn't a voice he could forget easily, however much he might have wanted to.

If he hadn't already been frozen solid, the sound of that pleasant, so _reasonable_ tenor would have sent chills running through him.

_Though it wasn't as bad as hearing Lucifer speaking with Sam's voice in that rose garden. Nothing could be worse than that…_

Not so pleasant at first though. Commanding, menacing, authoritative more like.

"Stop that!"

Had he been able, Dean would have gasped with pain as Meg withdrew her knife from her excavations in his side. Instead he settled for internalising his pain – _and didn't all those psychologists say that was a bad thing to do? _he mused, trying to ignore the mounting agitation that was threatening to make his insides more of a mess than Meg's knife. He could feel the blood flowing easily (too damn easily) down his flank, wondered what damage she'd done to him, how bad it was. Felt bad enough, that's for sure.

_Shit, Lucifer, here…I am so screwed Sammy…_

Meg leaped to her feet, all grovelling apologies and bloodied hands. If he'd had a better view of it, Dean might just have managed to muster a laugh at the sight of a demon being torn off a strip by the Devil.

"I told you I want him kept safe and undamaged. You need to show some respect to my brother's chosen vessel."

Meg's voice was low, Dean could barely hear her as she whispered abject excuses and regret for the offence she'd offered. And all she had done was simply be true to her nature - a demon, doing what she had been created to do.

_Ironic. He wanted demons to be evil and torture us but when he gets what he asked for, he doesn't like it…But what the hell, Sammy? If he doesn't want me dead, what does he want me for?_

Dean had a sick feeling that he was about to find out. He was right.

*******

Sam was slumped over his laptop in an exhausted sleep when Bobby arrived at the Traveller's Rest Motel. Luckily the brothers' room was on the ground floor and though there was a small step up to the path that ran the length of the building, Bobby's months of enforced wheelchair practice meant he made it up to Sam's door with the minimum of fuss. The grizzled hunter made the flimsy door rattle with a vigorous knock and waited impatiently for a bleary eyed Sam to let him in.

Bobby noted with compassion the younger Winchester's attempts to appear strong and objective in the face of his mounting fear for his big brother. Singer closed his eyes for a second, fighting back his own weariness after the long drive and wishing passionately for the old strength of his body back again. This paralysed state was a bitch – it wasn't merely the lack of mobility, but the side effects, like greater susceptibility to infections, that really cramped his style these days. He reached under his chair and pulled out his new closest and most constant companion – a bottle of Johnny Walker Blue – ignoring the worried look from Sam's puppy dog eyes. He wheeled over to the kitchenette and poured two sizable shots into a couple of china mugs on the draining board.

"Here, get that down you boy, you look like shit." He gave the young man the patented Bobby Singer glare until Sam, intimidated, acquiesced and took one of the mugs. He waited until Sam had taken a large gulp before wheeling back to the cluttered table.

"So. What've we got?"

Unfortunately, the answer after an hour of comparing notes was – not a lot. Bobby rubbed his tired eyes, while Sam sat back in the small wooden chair and stretched out his long legs into infinity. Damn but that boy was tall. Bobby couldn't quite remember when that happened, one minute he's been a little squirt the next a towering giant. Singer sighed.

"Ok. So to sum up, this Yuki-onna seems to have snatched Dean from under our noses, with Meg in tow and probably running the show; they didn't want him dead so must be stashing him somewhere, and we have no clue where or why."

Sam didn't open his eyes, just nodded disconsolately. "So," said Bobby, "What did Castiel say?"

Sam sat up suddenly at that, hazel eyes (just like Dean's, Bobby thought with a little wrench of the heart) wide and startled as a deer caught in the headlights. "Oh I see. You didn't speak to Cas yet, then. You idjit!" Even as Bobby was speaking, the younger Winchester was scrabbling for his cell phone, scrolling down his contacts for the angel's number.

"Castiel, yes it's Sam. Listen, we need your help."

*******

When Lucifer was done with Meg, he turned his attention to his helpless prisoner. Dean wanted desperately to move away as the vessel the Prince of Darkness was riding leaned over his naked vulnerable body. At the same time he wanted to fling himself at the creature, to tear it to pieces with his bare hands to exorcise the terrible future memory of it wearing his little brother's face. But he was still frozen in place, and could do nothing at all as the face of Nick/Lucifer bent over him with a look of compassion on its crumbling features. Dean could smell the sickly sweet scent of decay on the dying vessel's breath as Lucifer spoke to him. He so wanted to at least turn his head away, hated it that he couldn't.

"Hello again, Dean. I'm sorry about this..." Lucifer gestured at Dean's naked form, smiling ruefully. "This captivity is necessary, as is this weakened state imposed on you by my lovely Yuki-onna."

_You smug son of a bitch._

"However, I think I can do something about this injury…" Something dark and angry flashed for a moment in Nick/Lucifer's blue eyes and was gone, and Dean felt a burning sensation as the Devil placed a hand on his wound. There was an instant of excruciating pain, almost off the scale, then a comforting numbness spread from the area Lucifer was touching, followed by a faint warmth. Dean found that his limbs were loosening a little, and he could move his eyes and his head, just a little. His breathing had quickened, he could feel his heart beating uncomfortably fast, and he was horrified as he realised the pain had caused tears to well up in his eyes. He squeezed his lids shut and wished for a free hand to wipe away the tell tale moisture that tracked down his cheeks. He strained and strained but his body was still bound in its invisible restraints, and he couldn't even twitch a finger. And although he tried, he still couldn't speak.

_Dammit._

Lucifer was talking to him again.

_Boy, did that evil bastard love the sound of his own voice._ Unwillingly, Dean found his attention grabbed by Lucifer's words.

"Sam will say yes to me very soon."

_Never._

"In just a matter of months; but you already know this, Dean."

_No. Not gonna happen._

"Oh but it will happen, and there is absolutely nothing you can do to stop it."

_Get out of my head, you bastard!_

Lucifer stretched Nick's lips into a sincere smile that made Dean shiver inside worse than Yuki-onna's winter.

"You see, I want my brother to have his vessel too, it is how it should be. Michael and I, reunited to fight as we should have fought all those millennia ago. And it is right that we use you two Winchester brothers as our vessels in this battle – it was meant to be."

_No! _

_No. I don't believe in fucking destiny!_

"You didn't believe in angels or God either did you, Dean, and look where that got you. It _will_ happen, and I will win this time."

_Sam will never say yes._

That terrible smile again.

"Oh but he will. And he will because of you, Dean. To save you, Sam will do anything."

_No no no no…_

Dean couldn't believe it, but Lucifer was actually stroking his face, wiping away his tears in some horrific parody of maternal love, an expression of infinite compassion on his vessel's decaying features.

"It will be alright Dean, this is how it is meant to be. Me in Sam, strong and powerful and vigorous. Michael in you, weakened and sad and inadequate. Which is why I will win."

Lucifer's touch was burning, but his words blistered and scorched far worse. Dean closed his eyes and tried desperately to think of nothing, to stave off the despair that threatened to overwhelm him.

Lucifer stood up and as his smouldering touch was removed, Dean felt a great sense of relief, even though the all pervading chill returned immediately to settle into his very bones.

"You, Meg. Find his clothes and get him dressed. It is not fitting for my brother's vessel to be kept like this for months, deprived of his dignity. Yuki, make sure he is bound tight. I will not tolerate any mistakes."

Dean opened his eyes again to watch Lucifer leave the room, and couldn't help a small grin of satisfaction to see Meg looking pale and shaken after her slap down by her beloved father. The grin was short-lived though, when he caught sight of Yuki-onna (who he had finally, belatedly placed as the legendary Japanese demon-spirit of winter and snow) standing quietly in the corner behind Meg. The white faced Snow Woman seemed different today, taller and far less human, and was watching him intently with a strange expression on her translucently pale face, her long black hair a stark contrast with her white kimono and white skin. He was hard put to suppress a shudder as she glided towards him to fulfil Lucifer's orders, and he hoped against hope that he would at least retain his current limited range of motion when he resurfaced from another dose of frozen winter, as the cold blackness claimed him once again.

*******


	6. Chapter 6

It never failed to startle Sam when an angel performed that trick of appearing or disappearing out of nothing, with only that strange fluttering disturbance of the air to signal arrival or departure. This occasion was no exception. Was it a rustle of invisible wings or an arrhythmia of a heartbeat? A catch of the breath and Castiel was almost standing on Sam's feet, so close that the younger Winchester could smell a faint cold fresh scent of reminiscent of something wild; the sea perhaps, or a mountain breeze. The big man took an involuntary step back and an apologetic expression crossed the angel's unshaven face.

"I am sorry, Sam. Dean has been reminding me to allow more 'personal space'."

The rumpled angel also stepped back, allowing Sam some breathing space and gazed around the cheerfully pink room. His piercing blue gaze alighted on Bobby, who nodded a greeting.

Before either hunter could open their mouths, Castiel made a low voiced solemn pronouncement that had all the blood draining from Sam's face.

"Lucifer is here."

"Here, here…or here in Chicago?" Bobby asked sharply, taking a firmer grasp on his whiskey bottle without even realising it.

"In this city." Castiel expanded slightly, if a little unhelpfully. Sam was gripping the back of the kitchen chair so hard, his knuckles where white and he thought absently that the flimsy wood might snap. His voice when he finally found it was choked and rough.

"_Lucifer_ has Dean? Is that what you are saying?" He swallowed hard, tried to take deep breaths over the rising panic.

"I fear so." Castiel confirmed, his normally impassive face showing a worn concern. That was one fallen angel who was starting to look a bit like he was unravelling at the edges, and Sam knew exactly how that felt.

_Oh God, oh God, what am I going to do?_

_What if Lucifer offers Dean in exchange for saying yes?_

_Can I really doom my brother to death or torment by refusing him?_

******

When Dean surfaced this time, he was alone. The first instinct was to try and move, but once again, the invisible cold had him in its icy fingers, and apart from being able to move his head, he was pretty much as Lucifer had left him, very effectively immobilised. He cursed, colourfully, under his breath, then was suddenly overwhelmed with a ridiculous elation as he realised that he had regained the use of his vocal chords. Like any Dean-sweet-talking was going to get him out of there, but still. He strained and managed to lift his head just a fraction and was rewarded with the discovery of another plus – he was fully clothed again, as per Big Bad Daddy's instructions. In fact, he was no longer laid out on the concrete floor like the piece of meat Meg had called him, but on a bed, its mattress a welcome softness he could just about feel against his back.

"Hey, Winchester, things are looking up!" He said out loud, just to wallow in the sound of his own voice.

That was when he found that he wasn't alone after all.

"You should be quiet, boy." Came a soft whisper, accompanied by a cloud of white frozen breath that puffed across his face like cigarette smoke from the bright carmine lips of Yuki-onna. Her beautiful oval face hoved into view from somewhere behind his bed, long dark locks swinging down to brush against his cold face with a feather-light touch, and in spite of himself, he flinched.

_C'mon Dean, she's under orders not to kill you...get a grip!_

He gathered himself together, and mustered up his best, most charming smile and plastered it on.

"Well, hey, if it isn't my own personal Snow Queen. What's up, Yuki? Forgot to remove your ice chip from my heart?"

A small white hand rested briefly on his chest and he wished for a moment he'd been able to think up a different quip as he felt the icy touch burning deep into that aforementioned heart. The sheer arctic cold of it took his breath away; then she lifted her hand and he could breathe easy again.

Yuki-onna smiled at him, sitting herself on the edge of the bed, very carefully (he noticed with deep gratitude) keeping her body at least two inches away from his.

"I like you, Dean Winchester." She leaned forward, bringing her face so close to his that he could see the tracery of tiny blue veins under her transluscent pale skin, even see his own pallid face reflected in her black eyes which brought an uncomfortable sense of déjà vu. Her voice was soft and seductive as silk.

"You are a pretty boy, and so young…"

"Oh, that's great, a demon-succubus-spirit _likes_ me."

_Shut up with the snarky remarks, stupid, you don't want to make her angry…_

Fortunately for Dean, the Snow Maiden ignored the sarcasm, standing up as the door opened and Meg stormed in, the demon's waxy face fixed in a petulant pout. Yuki-onna drifted away and seemed to Dean to fade silently into the whitewash of the walls.

"What's the matter, bitch, Daddy been tearing you a new one for damaging the merchandise?" he sneered. Meg strode over to his bed, her bitter expression not improved by Dean's attempted banter.

"You know, Dean, you really are the dumb one in your family, aren't you? You never learned when to shut the hell up!" she hissed as she backhanded him viciously across the mouth. Ruefully, Dean thought that although she was an evil lying demon bitch, she might just have a point there. He gingerly probed the bleeding split in his lip with his tongue. He spat out a mouthful of blood, carefully aiming at Meg's shiny black boots. Bullseye. Sadly that accuracy earned him another smack in the mouth, but he considered it was probably worth it, and it was the best he could deal out in his current constrained circumstances. He smirked, then grimaced. _That hurt._

"So, no kiss for me today then?" he asked, "Was it 'cause I hurt your feelings last time by telling you that you taste of peanut butter?" He wrinkled his freckled nose in disgust. "I have to say, it was gross."

Meg had clearly decided not to be drawn any further by Dean's taunting, though he could see that his pathetic barbs were hitting home. He wasn't really sure what he was hoping for, maybe just to tip the demon over the top so Lucifer would punish her good and proper this time; though having Meg sent back to Hell might not be sufficient compensation if she was goaded into killing him. After a moment's reflection, Dean decided he did know when to shut up after all, and closed his bleeding mouth and let Meg have her turn.

"You and your brother have been hard to track down, thanks to that pathetic milksop tame angel of yours."

"Yeah, my heart bleeds for you. So how exactly did you find us this time then?"

"You really are dim, aren't you Dean? I thought even you would have figured it out by now. We didn't find you, we simply allowed you to find us – thanks to Yuki here, of course."

Dean closed his eyes for a moment, gritting his teeth. He supposed he had already guessed it had all been a trap, but it was distinctly annoying to have Meg point it out. Besides the fact that the bad guy had been happy to kill three innocent people and a hunter solely in order to draw the Winchester boys in. And that, apocalypse or no apocalypse, really sucked.

"It suits us to keep you invisible from angels, we don't want Michael finding you before we are ready, after all." Meg pressed her hand down on Dean's ribs and leaned, hard. "Just as well for your sake, otherwise I might be tempted to break a rib or two and mess up that lovely Enochian seal Castiel branded you with…"

Dean felt himself get a little paler at the thought, he had no desire to have another face to face with Zachariah or worse, the Archangel Michael himself; not just yet, if ever. What Meg said next was a lower blow.

"Anyhow, I don't expect we will have to wait too much longer for Sam to offer himself up to my Father. He is with your brother right now, offering your life in exchange for Sam's consent." Meg laughed at the stricken look on Dean's face. "Oh, he's not there in person, you understand, just visiting Sam's dreams; but how long do you think Sam will be able to resist with your sweet little ass on the line?"

With that parting shot, Meg flounced out of the room, leaving Dean screaming silently, straining against the icy cold that kept him trapped and helpless, raging against the dying of his hope.

******


	7. Chapter 7

******

Sam was pacing; he was agitated, angry and afraid. Not a good combination on top of the exhaustion he was feeling after so many hours without any sleep. He could feel Bobby's concerned gaze but chose to ignore it.

"So do you know where they are holding Dean then? Because if you do, you have to take me there, right now." Sam loomed threateningly over the angel's shorter vessel, who looked back at him with a fraction less than his usual serene unconcern. Bobby wheeled up behind Sam and grasped his hand as if he feared the young hunter might take a swing at the trench-coated messenger of God. Sam ruefully admitted to himself that Bobby might have been right to be worried, he was that close to the edge.

"Sam, when was the last time you slept, kid? You are running on fumes, and that's not gonna help Dean any." Sam pulled away from the older man's grip and his affectionate concern alike, and bit back a rude retort with an effort as the old hunter continued. "We need to have clear heads now, if we are gonna get out of this in one piece, and get your brother back."

Sam ran a hand through his long hair, sighed deeply. Bobby was right, going off half-cocked would likely doom them all, and they couldn't afford to lose anybody else. He closed his eyes at the image of the hardware store exploding into the night, and the heartache at seeing the burning photograph in Bobby's hearth.

Castiel seemed unmoved by this display of erratic human behaviour, but was looking thoughtful. Sam sat down heavily on the edge of the bed as Castiel walked over and stood in front of him.

"I have an idea." The angel said, and before Sam could react, Cas had gently placed two fingers on his forehead and the young man folded into unconsciousness, slumping backwards onto the flowery pink bedspread.

******

Lucifer found him, seemingly only an instant after Castiel knocked him out. The First Among Fallen Angels had probably been impatiently waiting to pounce, hitherto frustrated by the long hours Sam had managed without sleep since Dean disappeared.

"Hello, Sam. It's been a while."

Echoes of Victor Hendrickson played briefly in Sam's head. He shuddered at the silky smooth tones, and even more so when he noticed the sloughing skin on Lucifer's vessel's face. Even in a dream, Nick's bodily corruption and imminent collapse was clear. It would seem that the healing powers wielded by a fallen angel were insufficient to maintain a weak vessel for long, even an angel as powerful as Lucifer had been.

Sam did not respond to Lucifer's greeting – what was there to say, after all? What was Cas playing at, sending him here, knowing Lucifer would be looking for him, just waiting to persuade him to give up, give in, give himself over to the end of the world. So much for having at least a few more months grace before the showdown in Detroit that Lucifer had promised him that terrible night in Carthage.

"You know why I am here, Sam. We have Dean," Sam clenched his fists, saw Lucifer note the gesture, hating how that made the Prince of Darkness smile in sycophantic sympathy. "Don't worry, he's alive – for now. You have proved to be very stubborn, Sam. Persuasion wasn't working, so I thought I might try a little bargaining instead."

"Blackmail more like," Sam growled. He took a step towards Lucifer, fury filling his soul, banishing the fear. "You let my brother go, right now, you evil son of a bitch!"

Lucifer's smile never wavered. "Sam, Sam, you have been spending far to much time with Dean, you are starting to sound like him."

"I could have worse role models," Sam retorted, the sudden ache in his heart telling him how true that was.

There was a stirring in the air behind him, and Lucifer's expression for a brief moment showed his mask slipping into bitter rage. Sam blinked and the Devil's smarmy smile was back; then he felt a warm hand clasp his shoulder. Castiel was standing beside him; somehow the lesser of the fallen angels had joined his dream, and it was apparent that Lucifer was not pleased by this development. Sam almost unconsciously pressed up against the short angel, taking comfort from his solid presence.

"Castiel."

"Lucifer."

"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, brother, knowing your inexplicable devotion to that sad pathetic excuse for a human and his lost cause. Well, you are here now, so can bear witness to Sam's momentous decision. That's….nice."

Castiel stayed silent, waiting. Sam looked across at the Winchester angel's calm profile, wondering what Cas had in mind, hoping that he did have some trick up his angelically crumpled trench-coat's sleeve to magic them out of there and save Dean. Because he was racking his brain and coming up empty.

"I can send Dean back to Hell, you know, Sammy." Lucifer continued into the silence. Sam felt his stomach plummet at the words, as if he's just stepped off a cliff. _No._

"But...but Michael..needs Dean…"

"He would have to find another vessel."

Castiel interrupted his brother, his voice calm but firm. A promise. "I would come and drag him out, just as I did before."

Lucifer just eyed the dark haired angel and smiled again.

"Yes, I suppose you would. However, it took you a long time to find him last time, and you were more powerful then. You hadn't fallen." Lucifer rubbed at Nick's blonde beard thoughtfully. "I wonder if you could reach him before we had broken him again? I think he would break quicker this time, don't you?" Then he laughed at the stricken look of doubt on Castiel's face.

Sam thought he had forgotten how to breathe as he struggled against the pain in his heart at the thought of Dean trapped and tortured again. Of his brother being broken and turning torturer, ripping other souls apart. Even if he were to be rescued, could any man, even Dean, survive that a second time?

Sam took a deep breath. Perhaps there really was only one way to end all of this. One way to save his brother, even if it meant damning the rest of creation.

Perhaps the Prince of Lies was actually telling the truth.

******

As the door closed behind Meg, Dean turned his head away and squeezed his eyes shut against the wave of despair that threatened to sweep him away. He had entirely forgotten about the Japanese demon-spirit who hovered silently against the wall, watching him. Yuki-onna drifted closer to the tormented human, and Dean opened his eyes as he felt the air chilling further round his body as she drew near.

"Oh great, come to get your jollies too, have you? Join the queue, Snow Queen." His bravado fell flat, even on his own ears. _Besides she is so frigid even I would have trouble performing to my usual standards…_

Disturbingly, Yuki-onna responded to the unspoken thoughts entirely without rancour, and Dean found himself blushing hotly in spite of the constant cold.

"My boys never have any trouble satisfying my desires, believe me."

The snow spirit leaned over his body as she had before, except this time she seemed somehow suspended so that her entire length was floating above him as if she had been suspended by wires from the ceiling. Her long black hair hung down around them both in a dark smoky curtain, and her lips almost, but not quite touched his. Her breath swirled around his head in a cold cloud, scented like pine forests, juniper, snow and ice, and he felt dizzy and afraid. This time when she kissed him, it was different - strange. Instead of winter enveloping him, he felt the freezing arctic chill that had been binding him being sucked out and a subtle heat creeping slowly back into his body. He closed his eyes again as a blissfully warm darkness chased the chill away. The last thing he heard was Yuki's soft voice whispering in his ear.

"When all this is over, I will return for payment. You will give me whatever I ask in return for this favour, my pretty boy…."

_Yes. Yes, I guess I will. I owe you._

You owe me your fire, Dean Winchester.

******

He woke, still aching and cold, thought he had been dreaming and for a moment, despair almost claimed him again.

Then he heard something he couldn't place, a sound that hadn't been there in that featureless prison cell. He felt a breeze on his cheek and then realised the noise he couldn't place was the sound of wind whistling through the rigging of a boat.

He was lying on his back and was clearly out of doors from the noises, but the surface he was lying on was surprisingly soft, if still damp and cold. He could smell earth and grass. He opened his eyes cautiously to a pitch dark sky, turned his head, frowning as the small movement set it pounding worse than the first time Yuki-onna had taken him on a little trip. His side ached like crazy where Meg had been playing with her knife, but the terrible paralysis had gone, and he could move his arms and legs.

_Yuki-onna, Meg – Lucifer. Shit, Sammy!_

Dean tried to stand up, failed miserably, falling back and rolling painfully to end up on his hands and knees, gasping with pain and shaking with weakness. He put a trembling hand to his throbbing side and it came away black with blood under the dim street lighting. It would seem Lucifer was no angel when it came to the healing mojo, any more than Cas was, and _sheesh, that hurts like fuck._

_Phone. Have to phone Sam, make sure he's ok. Make sure he doesn't get pressured into saying yes…_

He silently thanked the Snow Queen once again for having brought him here (wherever the hell here was) fully equipped with his leather jacket and its many pockets, and the all important cell phone. He flipped it open and dialled hastily with bloody fingers – _Oh god oh god don't let me be too late…_ - it rang and rang, then Bobby answered. A moment of panic that it wasn't Sam, then he was too busy screaming instructions down the phone to wonder what their old friend was doing there.

"I don't know where I am, somewhere near some boats I think, but never mind me – look you need to wake Sam up, Lucifer is with him….what do you mean you know? What the fuck, Bobby?"

"Dean, calm down. Cas went in with Sam, he's in there with him now."

"Cas is in Sam's head – that's, that's weird, man…" Dean found himself swaying, even though he was kneeling down and he nearly dropped the phone. He lifted the cell to his ear again with an effort, his arm felt so heavy.

"Sorry, I lost you for a second there…yeah, m'alright…" his speech was getting slurred and he was having trouble focussing.

"Yes, I said boats…yacht thingies with sails and shit…"

"Ok Dean, hang on, I think I know where you are, I'll get…"

Dean couldn't stay awake to hear what Bobby was going to get; he slid very slowly and quite gracefully sideways, found his cheek pressed against the frosty grass, staring uncomprehendingly at a pair of black accountant-type shoes.

Then Cas had gently scooped him up in his arms, deceptively strong for his short stature, and in an instant they were back in the beautiful warm pink cocoon of the Traveller's Rest Motel. In a daze, Dean saw Sam stretched out on one of the beds, and tried protest as Cas carefully deposited him onto the other. He wanted desperately to rouse himself enough to reach out to the kid, but he just didn't have any strength left.

******

After checking that Bobby was attending to Dean, Castiel wasted no time in returning to Sam's dream, hoping against hope that he was not too late.

The younger Winchester brother was on his knees, tears streaming down his face. Nick/Lucifer stood over the boy, a fatherly hand placed gently on his tousled head.

Castiel strode over to the tableau, and ignoring his brother entirely, knelt down to face Sam. He placed a hand either side of the young man's face, forcing those reddened anguished hazel eyes to meet his piercing blue ones.

"Sam. Listen to me. Dean is safe, we have your brother safe."

He didn't raise his gaze to see Lucifer's reaction, kept Sam fixed on him, so the boy could see the truth in his eyes, hear it in the timbre of his voice.

"Dean?"

"Safe. Hidden." _For now_.

Sam looked up at Lucifer, and smiled – a genuine, happy full-on grin that made him look ten years younger.

Sam deliberately woke himself up, breaking Lucifer's connection. Castiel did the same, leaving the dream-state never looking back, hearing without sound the rage and frustration of his older, more powerful brother with no small sense of satisfaction. For now.

Dean managed to retain a grip on his consciousness long enough to register that Sam was awake. More than that, his giant little brother was perched on the edge of his bed looking happy to hold tightly onto his hand just like they had when they were kids. He stayed awake long enough to grunt something about allowing a chick flick moment in the circumstances….before swimming off into a deep contented sleep.

He didn't hear the whisper on the chilly north-easterly wind._ Remember you owe me your fire, Dean Winchester…_

******


End file.
